


The Adventures of Eledor

by morganasmyths



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, camelot AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-20 16:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganasmyths/pseuds/morganasmyths
Summary: This is a book set in the ancient times of Britain, with Kingdoms such as Camelot and Caledonia, and is dedicated to Johnlock and their adventures there and how they slowly fall in love.Loosely based off the TV show 'Merlin', may contain some of the characters as well.This is open to requests also, if you would like to see a particular adventure happen please message me and I would be more than happy to write it for you!





	The Adventures of Eledor

**Author's Note:**

> This will sort of be an endless series I think, please comment and tell me your thoughts and submit your ideas! This is sort of an open story with no real plot, just little oneshots of different adventures. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> M x

The sun was rising. Bashful rays cast a warm golden glow across the lands of Eledor and glinted off the armour of the soldiers on patrol. Whilst the others squinted away from bright morning light, John Watson revelled in the deep beauty and wondered at the power of life it granted over the world. John was almost certain he was the only soldier here who even bothered to think about the sun, the others were quite clearly pining after their long-lost sleep. 

A lack of sleep didn't bother John, not as long as he was on the patrol. It may be the lowest rank in the kingdom's army, but at least he was in it. He knew many a person who hadn't even made it this far. He gazed back at the sun as he thought wistfully of the breakfast waiting for him at home.

"Soldiers!" The harsh cry of their leader echoed sharply through the tender ears of the patrol. "Check the boundaries!"

The early morning patrol was not necessarily a fun thing. The soldiers split up into different directions, riding swiftly away from each other to different parts of the kingdom border. John was assigned with a cliff that overlooked a large forest. Often John found himself imagining he was in that forest, away from the safety of Eledor, picking at leaves and drawing animal tracks in the moss so he could pretend he was questing with the knights, picking up little details throughout the forest, constantly aware for lurking danger that threatened to sabotage their journey. 

The occasional rustle of leaves in the morning breeze was John's old friend at this stage of the morning patrol. He jumped off his horse, sliding his sword from the saddle bag to his belt as he reached the part where the forest stopped and made way for the rocky terrain of the cliff edge. He hastily tied his horse by the reigns to a nearby tree and set out on foot to examine whether there was anything strange about the border today.

There wasn't.

With a sigh, John sat down with his legs hanging off the edge of the cliff and stared out over the enormous kingdom of Eledor before him and the strange and dangerous lands that stretched out beyond that. He longed to be out there among them, exploring, journeying as a proud knight of the kingdom. A rustle to his left snapped him out of his thoughts.

That was most certainly not the wind. 

Another rustle shuddered through a particular bush and John clambered slowly to his feet, drawing his sword and eyeing the bush, heart racing but movements steady and controlled. Slowly, he crept back into the forest and closer to the rustle. Suddenly the whole bush parted in two and a young man stepped out. For a moment, John's jaw fell slack.

He was tall and lithe and dressed in a simple white shirt and brown trousers. His hair was a mass of dark curls, the edges of which flickered in the sunlight. His skin was smooth and pale but his hands were scarred and practised. He was young, younger than John, perhaps not even twenty. Upon realising he was not alone, the young man froze, pale eyes locked on John. 

And John saw it in his eyes and knew instantly. In those pale green eyes billowed the familiar light of magic. He was a sorcerer. 

Immediately John collected himself and raised his sword, pointing it at the man's throat.

"Who are you?" he said, his voice commanding and steady. "What is your business in Eledor?"

The young sorcerer flinched at the sword but replied as though he wasn't being threatened at all.

"I've come from a different kingdom to seek work. I'm new," he said, then after a pause he added, "Just like you."

John faltered at those words. How could he possibly know that John was new? Despite his only being here a week he had settled into the protocol remarkably quicker than any of the other new soldiers and picked up the talents and skills of the job the fastest by a long mile. He opened his mouth to ask but found the words didn't come. He swallowed quickly and stared closer at the sorcerer.

"Two can play at that game," he said. "You are a sorcerer."

The young man was caught off guard by that, and his smug expression faltered. 

"How did you know?"

John smirked and shifted his standing position to one of more comfort. He sheathed his sword before replying. 

"I'll tell you, if you tell me first how you knew I was new."

The sorcerer scowled at him but complied. "Your entire armour is remarkably clean."

"We do clean it," John said, unimpressed. 

"I know," the sorcerer replied. "But the older a knight, the more wear his clothing has. The soles of your boots aren't worn in at all and your chain link has no holes. Additionally, you're on the early morning patrol, the lowest position in the army which suggests that you have not been here a long time, as your ability to quickly pick up skills - as shown through your threat to me - would make you an obvious choice for promotion."

John was silent for a moment, processing everything the man said. "And you got that from one look at me?" he said.

The sorcerer only hummed in agreement. John crossed his arms.

"I'm impressed."

"I know."

John looked away and let out a humourless laugh at that. "Arrogant sod," he muttered. The sorcerer smiled.

"I know."

John looked back to the sorcerer and laughed properly this time. He held out his hand.

"John."

The sorcerer took John's hand and shook it. "Sherlock. So, how did you know I'm a sorcerer?"

"Eyes," John replied. "An old friend of mine was born with magic, so as a kid I got pretty good at defining people by their eyes. Not necessarily a normal talent but somewhat useful."

Sherlock looked at him, curious. "I'm impressed."

John smirked. "Good."

Sherlock laughed at that but soon turned inquisitive again. "I've never heard of that before. I don't suppose you can describe what it is in my eyes?"

John shook his head apologetically. "I've tried in the past - to little avail." A sudden glint of sun through the trees caught John's eye and his head snapped up to gaze at the sun once more.

"Beautiful isn't it," he breathed, enthralled. When there was no reply, John suddenly realised he'd said that out loud and Sherlock was looking at him strangely. He didn't look as though he thought John was strange, but rather as though he was interesting. John wasn't sure if that was a good thing. 

"Sorry," John laughed nervously. "Deep thoughts are probably a side effect of being on the early morning patrol."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "But I don't think they should be classed as a 'side effect'. There's no shame in appreciating nature."

John looked at him with a small smile on his face. Everything about this strange warlock intrigued him. He felt an indescribable pull to Sherlock that he just couldn't place.

"Do you believe in Fate?" he asked. 

"I prefer to call it Chance," Sherlock replied. "But sometimes I wonder if the two are old friends." He looked up at John as he spoke, and John stared straight back into those pale eyes, billowing with the flickering cloud of sorcery. He smiled. Suddenly the far off shout of his patrol leader brought him back to the task at hand. 

"Do you need a ride to the citadel?" he offered, gesturing to his horse. Sherlock refused politely, saying that he'd rather walk and enjoy the sunrise. John shrugged and mounted his horse, sheathing the sword in the saddle bag once again. 

"I'll see you round, Sherlock," he said. 

"See you round," Sherlock replied with a small smile. John's smile twitched a little larger before he turned his horse and cantered off into the forest. Sherlock watched him go, entranced by the handsome, witty soldier. He let out a breath as the final views of John disappeared into the forest.

"See you round," he whispered again, to nobody at all. 

-

The patrol returned quickly after that and John wrote up a quick report of what had happened and handed it in to a Patrol Leader. The Leader scanned over his writing before deeming the man to be of little threat and little more than a visitor before filing it away with the other reports. 

John made his way from the soldiers' quarters in the West Wing of the castle and down the steps into the wide courtyard. It was a normal day, with people carting around wooden wheelbarrows of hay and grain and merchants bringing in supplies from the outlying villages. There were maids and servants carrying around washing and utensils for the kitchens and upon looking up, John caught the eye of Beatrix as she flapped a bed sheet out of the window of a tower. 

He smiled at her and she grinned, waving the sheet at him. He laughed and continued through the gates of the courtyard and into the Lower Town. It was just as busy here as in the Citadel, if not more so. The markets were up and already selling despite the earliness of the morning and John could smell hundreds of different foods and spices as he wandered through. He took a couple of alleyways left and right through the buildings until he reached the Baker's shop. 

The Baker's Street was one of the nicest streets in the Lower Town. The houses were built nicer with proper wooden slacks and stone foundations, rather than the slightly wonkier, more slapdash approach to housing which made up most of the rest of it. John could smell the Baker's shop before he could see it, and upon entering was greeted with a warm welcome. 

"Is that my John? Oh good morning!" Mrs Hudson cried, and hurried from behind the bar to hug him. "How was today's patrol? I heard from one of the guards that yours was more exciting..."

She was off and babbling away, and John was more than happy to share a quick conversation with her as he bought his bread. He visited her daily for the bread, with her being one of the first (and only) friends he made upon coming to Eledor. Although they had only known each other a week, they talked everyday and she always offered an extra small loaf with whatever John bought. 

Her husband had been a merchant, and with the money from him her children had started the bakery. They worked everyday in the little shop and Mrs Hudson was always kind to customers. John left the bakers feeling a little happier with two loaves of warm bread. 

His house was next to the inn, on another street filled with markets. He bought some cheese from the seller outside before squeezing into the inn. He greeted the innkeeper who flashed him a rather grizzly smile before darting leftwards to take the secret staircase that led straight to his small apartment. He had discovered the staircase after he told Borin, the innkeeper, of his staying in the apartment next door. Borin had showed him the staircase with the promise that he could use it whenever.

It was really quite useful, as John's apartment was on top of the tavern and it often became busy in there - not that the inn was much better but at least the innkeeper liked him. Ulric who ran the tavern couldn't stand him. He'd eventually agreed to let John stay because he was the only one capable of paying any rent. 

The apartment was small, but quite nice considering it's cheap price. The only really issue was the noise of the tavern, the inn and the marketplace but most of the time he didn't mind. He had a bed in one corner, a table with three chairs (one of which was claimed by his clothes) and a window overlooking the street. The walls were lined with shelves and the door was nice and sturdy. It was good accommodation for a man with little money. 

When he'd first arrived in Eledor, Beatrix had let him stay with her for the first few nights until he'd managed to persuade Ulric to take him. It was nice of her, and a lovely way to rekindle an old friendship. He usually saw her everyday, around the castle or the courtyard, which nicely brought his number of friends to a total of three. John was a social person, but finding friends in this town wasn't easy. He was grateful for the ones he did have. 

As he settled down to have his breakfast, a crash from outside caught his attention. He put down his bread and cheese and wandered over to the window to see what was happening. There was some sort of brawl, that was obvious, but it wasn't until his eyes found a mop of dark, curly hair that his mouth stretched into a grin. 

So, Sherlock the sorcerer had made it into Eledor. It seemed he was just as hopeless as making friends as John was, or even more so considering the daggers one of the market owners was throwing at him. John rolled his eyes. This market owner threw knives at everyone. He always missed - he was a remarkably terrible shot considering the amount of practice he'd had. He threw one at John once, but John had simply caught it by the blade and he'd never thrown another one at him again. 

Then Ulric came out and John decided that he really ought to intervene - it was only going to get messier from here. He raced down the stairs and was about to intervene when he noticed that Sherlock was using magic to taunt the guy. John huffed out a laugh and leaned against one of the columns of the tavern, watching silently. Sherlock produced a flashy performance of juggling the knives mid-air, making the market owner go increasingly red in the face, before slamming them one by one into the front of his table.

The market owner nearly screamed at him. John almost laughed out loud at the way his face was turning purple from rage, but was soon distracted by the way the rest of the marketplace began to applaud Sherlock's display. John even offered a couple claps. Sherlock turned to bow dramatically, back to the market owner, when John realised that he was worked free one of the knives from his stand and was eyeing Sherlock's back with keen fury. 

His heart suddenly beating fast he ran forward and between the two just as the market owner hurled the knife at Sherlock's back. With a keen eye and quick reflexes, he caught the knife by the blade between his fingers. The entire marketplace when silent and Sherlock promptly stood up again, turning around with wide eyes and realising very quickly the situation he was in. His gaze flashed between the knife in John's hand, the market owner and John himself, lips slightly parted in shock. 

Without a word John turned the dagger in his fingers until he had a firmer grip of the blade and tossed it hard into the hanging tavern sign so that it pierced the centre of the logo with an accuracy that caused the market owners knees to falter momentarily. Ulric was not so impressed. 

"Oi! You!" he growled. "That's my bloody sign you've just thrown that thing at."

John's heart picked up. He had completely forgotten Ulric was there. He turned and opened his mouth to make some form of apology but nothing came. Ulric was positively fuming by this point, boiling blood burnished his cheeks a bright red and his hand trembled as it reached for the cleaver on the butcher's stand. 

"Get down!" John yelled, throwing himself over Sherlock and slamming them both into the earth as the cleaver thudded into the building behind them. Immediately he began scrambling to his feet and tugged Sherlock with him as he stumbled into a sprint, racing through the markets as fast as he could.

Ulric and the market owner were hot on their tails, chasing them through the crowded market until they ran into a square near the citadel gates. The market opened out here and on the West side of the square were the stables with the battlements of the citadel wall looming just behind. John immediately tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand, decidedly ignoring how it had been holding it the whole time, and made straight for the stables.

He could see a precarious stack of hay bales on one side, and he thought if they could climb up there perhaps they could escape. At the very least it would bide them some time.

They were almost halfway across the square and dodging between stalls when a knife rammed into the post of one right next to Sherlock's head. John jumped out of his skin and glanced behind him with wide eyes. Ulric and the market owner were gaining on them. Desperately he glanced around for anything he could use and was vaguely aware of Sherlock releasing his hand. It wasn't until the man muttered an incantation that John looked at him properly.

The string tying a selection of large barrels to the wall of a shed to their left promptly untied itself and Sherlock seized John's hand again to pull him out of the wall of their stampede. The full force of the barrels ran straight into Ulric and the market owner who tripped over and were upturned completely by them. John let out a laugh at the success of Sherlock's magic. The joy was soon diminished by the, now worryingly familiar, sound of a knife whistling slightly too close for comfort and ending up in some poor woman's onions for sale.

John threw an apology as they sprinted past her, however she seemed to shocked to care. They finally made it to the hay bales and immediately began to climb. They had barely made it to the roof of the stables when the guards of the citadel flooded into the square to sort out the brawl. John quickly jumped the battlements and pulled Sherlock over with him, and together they crouched behind the grey stone and watched as Ulric began raging about the offences they had committed against him.

Sherlock snorted at the market owner's similarly dramatic recount of the events. The gazes of the guards began wandering around the square in an obvious attempt to find the two men that Ulric and the market owner were describing, causing John to grab Sherlock by the shoulder and tug him beneath the side of the battlements so that they could not be seen from the square.

Eventually the mess cleared itself up, and the two slunk back into the streets of the lower town, giggling uncontrollably.

"That was one of the most ridiculous things I have ever done," John managed between laughs. Sherlock simply grinned in reply, eyes shining. "Nice magic back there, by the way," John added.

Sherlock shrugged. "It was nothing."

"It was bloody amazing," John marvelled. Sherlock said nothing but a small smile crept onto his face.

"We should probably go get your things from the tavern before Ulric returns," he said suddenly. John's eyebrows creased.

"Why?"

"Because you'll be out of a home by the time he gets back."

John's face fell as he realised that Sherlock was right. Ulric had already disliked him, and now the man positively loathed him. There was no way he'd let him stay, regardless of what he paid.

"I haven't got anywhere to go," John said simply. "This is marvellous."

"Oh John, don't be daft," Sherlock said with a tilt of his head but there was a playful edge to his tone and a smile at the corner of his lips. "You'll stay with me."

John's gaze snapped to meet Sherlock's. The warlock faltered slightly.

"That is... If you'd like to..."

"No that would be great, thanks," John smiled. "Where do you live?"

"There." Sherlock simply pointed upwards towards the house on the left. John recognised it immediately, it was the house across the road from Mrs Hudson's and looked exactly the same as the bakers (without the shop in the bottom of course).

"Mrs Hudson owns it, but we're old friends and she owes me a favour so she lets me rent it at a lower price," Sherlock explained. John's jaw hung open stupidly. "Is it alright?"

"It's perfect," John said with a grin.

"Then let's go get your things," Sherlock repeated. "We have a total of about seventeen minutes before Ulric returns and I don't quite feel like running into him again."

-

The next day, John woke and a smile crept onto his face as he remembered the events of yesterday. He sat up from his makeshift bed on the floor - a temporary arrangement they had come up with until they figured out something more permanent. His gaze immediately fell on Sherlock, awake and sitting up in bed with his legs drawn to his chest, pale eyes shining at a levitating flower pot hovering above the windowsill. John smiled at the sight. 

"Amazing," John breathed. Sherlock's eyes snapped back into focus and the flowerpot dropped from it's hovering and smashed onto the road below.

"What?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," John awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Just... Your magic is pretty incredible."

If he didn't already know the man to be so stoic about his emotions, John would have interpreted what he saw on Sherlock's face as a blush. However the warlock simply shook his head.

"It's just practice," he said, uncaring. His gaze drifted off to the side. "Essential to mastering any skill."

"This though," John said. "It's more of a talent than a skill I'd say?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps," he agreed. "Though the same principles apply. Practice will open a wider range of options in my abilities, and subsequently my usefulness."

John didn't quite know what to say to that. He didn't think Sherlock was useless in any way - far from it. He simply nodded and began to get ready for the patrol. Sherlock wished him luck. John smiled again and left. There was silence for a bit until there was a hearty crunch from outside and John muttering a few indecipherable curses. Sherlock smiled to himself.

Out on the patrol, the sunrise seemed brighter and warmer than he had ever seen it so far. He thoughts gathered shamelessly in wonder of the marvellous sight.

Perhaps his deep thoughts were a side-effect of being on the early morning patrol, or perhaps there really was no shame in the appreciation of nature. 

John was never shy of a sunrise again.


End file.
